There is No We in Team
by Hornswaggler
Summary: After Manhattan, Clint took some time off to work things out. When he gets back to civilization, though, he was met with new challenges that SHIELD didn't take the time to train him for; a whole new set of nightmares, a brand new team that he's supposed to figure out how to trust, and - perhaps worst of all - the fact that he's now a nationally recognized icon. TeamFic
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

**This was written for the MediAvengers Mini-Bang. It was a glorious idea and has glorious stories submitted and wonderful art drawn for it. The art for this story is found here: archiveofourown collections/MediAvengersMiniBang2013/works/1094008 and Kim is amazing for drawing it.**

**On AO3 this is just one large one-shot, but I figured it'd be a little easier to manage on here with chapters. So, three very short chapters. Sorry, sorry.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The magazine hit the desk with a much louder noise than he would've thought completely necessary. Clint eyed it a little skeptically, but most of his attention was on the pacing figure of his boss a few feet away. Fury didn't usually get agitated easily. Usually he kept up the face of cool disappointment or something, but apparently this was problematic enough to bring out his slightly less stoic side. In any other circumstances it might've been interesting to see the middle ground between the director's normal extremes. Not completely calm, but not shouting - _Yet_, Clint had to remind himself. It would've been interesting normally, but as it was, he was having trouble doing anything but just observing things as if from a stranger's perspective.

"They have your picture." The words were still quiet. Hopefully that meant they'd stay that way, at least for a while. "Hell, they have your _name_."

They both knew the archer had seen the article already. He had expected Manhattan to still be front page news, even after the time he'd been gone, but the bright full-color US Weekly had stuck out to him immediately. The words "Superhero Squad" had been bad enough, but then it had sunk in that the pictures on the cover happened to include him. Two of him, actually, both in the middle of the battle and later in Central Park. As if things hadn't been damn complicated enough…

"We tried to redact it." Fury was still talking, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the agent hadn't actually looked at him once since he had come in. "Basic damage control wasn't really an option with something of this scale, but we were hoping…" The man trailed off, stopping on the other side of the conference table and closing his eye for a moment as he let out a breath. Clint looked up then with a slightly cynical smirk.

"Carnies have good memories," he stated plainly. "I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. Can't have helped that I kept the same name." He couldn't tell if the glare he got was actually aimed at him or just the situation in general, but his expression remained blank as the older man began pacing again.

"Few rumors would've been fine. We can squash rumors. Then this damn Rising Tide notices the stories getting pulled and makes them go viral, and then more people come forward, and hell if there's anything we can do now but pull the 'no comment' card every five minutes." The edge to the words suggested that it was taking a good deal of effort to keep them at normal volume and Clint took advantage of another pause to interrupt again.

"Sir, if you're not blaming me for something or giving me a job, why am I here?" Probably could've been slightly less direct about it, but Clint had found he didn't really have the patience to beat around the bush lately. The glare leveled on him again for a few moments before Fury sighed.

"You and Romanoff are off active duty, at least –" he raised one hand to quell the instant protest - "until we can assess the damage. Best case scenario, we only have to pull you from undercover work."

"And what's the worst case?" Clint growled, resisting the urge to try staring his boss down. Probably wouldn't help matters any at this point. His position at SHIELD had been one of the least of his worries, what with everything else going on, but it had definitely crossed his mind. He just hadn't expected problems to arise from a magazine article, of all things. Could just be a misdirection. Could be. Too complicated to look too closely at now.

"We'll deal with that if it comes up." Typical Fury answer - not actually leaning far enough either way to get any clues, made no commitments, nothing he couldn't easily retract if necessary...

It was silent for a few moments before the younger man nodded briskly, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing the magazine off the table. "Am I free to go, then?"

Their eyes met and he wished, not for the first time, that that one eye would give anything at all away. After a pause the director nodded and Clint spun around immediately and strode to the door, trying to ignore the feeling of that damn eye on his back. He had grabbed the handle when Fury spoke up again.

"Barton." No acknowledgement except the pause in his steps, and apparently Fury didn't need any more than that. "I am sorry. About Phil."

_Damn you, Fury_... Clint managed a curt nod and managed not to look too hurried as he strode into the hall, mind working furiously to push that train of thought away. He'd seen the report, heard people bring it up quietly on breaks - though never when they thought he was close enough to listen - and the logical part of his mind knew it was true. The rest of his mind, however, was determined to simply not deal with it, especially not surrounded by people who still weren't afraid to blame him for the agents' deaths during the attack. _Later. Deal with it later._ Never mind the fact that he'd been telling himself that for the past three weeks.

At least the hallway was quiet, though he knew that wouldn't last very long. The helicarrier was in repairs, apparently. It had held out long enough to remain a functional command center in the middle of the attack, but the damage had been enough to make it risky to fly again until things were fixed up. Everyone who had been stationed on it - save a small skeleton crew, just in case another world crisis decided to crop up - had been transferred to the Virginia base. Clint definitely preferred it; he liked heights just fine, but being practically trapped in a flying cargo ship wasn't his ideal lifestyle. After seeing just how easily it could be compromised, many of the agents had requested the transfer become permanent, and he couldn't say he blamed them much.

The magazine was already creased, and his grip on it wasn't making it any better. Part of him wanted to open it again, read that damn page that he had already memorized just to verify, once again, that it actually existed.

_...social media sites were awash with the revelation that the man bystanders heard referred to as 'Hawkeye' is, in fact, a former Iowan circus performer named Clint Barton._

_Dammit_... Clint paused outside the door the connected the administration hall with one more heavily travelled and forced a steady breath, hands clenching for a moment at his sides. He was better than he had been a few weeks ago, technically, but that wasn't really saying much. _Don't want to be alone, don't want to be around people...the hell do you want, Barton?_

Pointedly ignoring his own question he swiped his ID quickly and pushed through the door. Everywhere was busy lately, but two days back wasn't enough time to get used to the stares. Some accusing, some sympathetic, some just curious...and always too many of them. Years of training refused to let him do anything but stand straight, eyes locked in front him. He didn't know this base well enough to manage shortcuts and simply ended up walking as quickly as he could manage without looking panicked, very slightly satisfied that his presence seemed to part crowds now.

_While_ _Hawkeye appears to be human..._

_Stop it._ Abruptly his path changed, from the temporary room Hill had assigned him to the stairwell he knew had roof access. Hell knew he wasn't about to sleep, anyway.

_There also appears to be an obvious rapport between Barton and the Black Widow..._

_Dammit, Barton, stop it._ It took a little effort but he managed to shove thoughts of the magazine to the back of his mind as he reached the door to the stairs. Brooding over it wasn't going to make the information disappear. People knew about him now. A hell of a lot of people knew, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to fix it. At least the roof door still accepted his ID. Fury probably realized he'd end up there somehow anyway - which was entirely accurate - and decided not to risk the property damage alternate methods might involve. It was cool in the open air and Clint let himself draw a proper breath for the first time in hours as he settled on the ledge, arms folded across his knees. Not like he was needed anywhere at the moment. New York was still being cleaned up - probably would be for months, at the least - and this base seemed to be running as smoothly as any SHIELD base ever did.

The public had his name. They had his picture on magazine racks across the country, and he wouldn't be at all surprised if they had gone global already. As if getting hijacked by a self-proclaimed god wasn't bad enough, now they had to worry about the press.

Clint wasn't sure exactly how long he was up there alone before the soft click of the door's lock brought him out of his own thoughts. The footsteps sounded heavy but sure, and whoever it was seemed pretty damn tall…

"Agent Hill said you'd be up here." Right. Rogers. Clint forced his muscles to relax a little but didn't make any further acknowledgements of the other man's presence. That didn't seem to deter him any, though. "Everything alright?"

Hell, he hated it when people sounded so concerned. Rogers managed to be a little better about it than most, but there was an underlying tone that was hard to miss. Hard, at least, for someone who was trained to hear it. Clint let out a slightly impatient breath before he turned enough to send the captain a half-hearted glare.

"Not really, no." Even that didn't shift the slightly-concerned expression.

"Fair enough. Anything I can help with?"

_Be nice, Barton. Not like he's attacking you or anything_. He hesitated a few moments before looking back over the base with a small shrug.

"No."

Rogers might've nodded - it was hard to tell without seeing his face - and the roof fell silent again. Clint had just started to wonder what the other man was actually doing when he spoke again, and his voice had a little more of a professional tone behind it.

"Stark offered us all a place to stay until things settle down. Some of the floors are still in repair, but the security system's back up. I'm headed back to New York tonight if you want a ride."

The archer had to pause a few moments before he turned again, propping one leg back up on the ledge as he examined Rogers carefully. There was a slight disadvantage, given the height difference, but he'd dealt with worse, and it wasn't like they were actively trying to intimidate each other. He wasn't sure what exactly the official verdict was on the whole Avengers thing, but he would bet a good deal of money that the Council wasn't exactly thrilled about it. Even if they were, it was even more likely that they wouldn't be too happy to have him in the ranks after what happened.

"What, little sleepover for the merry band of misfits?" The soldier shook his head.

"No. Just a room that's unlikely to have alarms going off every hour next door. It's strategic placing, too, in case there are any serious problems with the leftover alien tech." He paused a moment and then managed what looked like the beginnings of a smile. "Plus Agent Romanoff said she wasn't going unless you were."

That was believable, at least. To anyone else it probably just sounded like she didn't want to be stuck in a building with a bunch of strangers - which, granted, was most likely true too - but Clint knew she was still keeping an eye on him and going a few states to the north wasn't conducive to that. It was impressive that she was letting him roam the building alone now.

It might be bearable if Natasha was there. That damn tower was huge and he was good at avoiding people when necessary, so there was no reason to actually have any encounters with Stark...and hell if it wouldn't be nice to get away from all the varied looks he got from the agents downstairs. _You're still exhausted, Barton. You're not thinking straight_. If things went south he'd leave. Maybe it'd be possible to actually get some sleep when there wasn't the underlying and slightly irrational paranoia that SHIELD would send a strike team after him in the middle of the night.

"You said you're leaving tonight?" Rogers nodded and Clint let himself hesitate a moment longer before letting out a breath and pushing himself to his feet. "Why the hell not? Not like they're letting me do anything here." He started for the door, barely noting that the other man was following. "We flying or using one of SHIELD's submarines?" It was satisfying that Rogers looked very briefly curious, as if wondering whether that was actually an option - and in his defense, Clint was pretty certain they did have at least one sub - but his reply was simple enough.

"Agent Hill has a jet ready. They'll use it to ship some things back here tomorrow, so we'll be fending for ourselves when we get there, but I sort of figured..."

"Stark's got that covered, yeah." They were silent on the stairs and Clint was grateful that, if anything, Rogers at least knew how to be tactful. He half-turned toward his room when they came into the hall and then paused as a thought struck him. "Natasha has my bow, doesn't she?"

The other man blinked and then snorted lightly. "It's slightly creepy the way you two do that, you know?"

"Yeah, well..." Clint shrugged half-heartedly, sticking his hands in his pockets as they turned toward the hanger. "Worked together a long time. You get used to each other." There was a brief flash of something in Rogers' eyes - too fast to identify, but just enough to notice - and then he had what might have been called a smile if it hadn't been slightly bitter.

"Yeah. Guess I know how that is." He didn't elaborate and Clint decided very quickly to not press the matter. Things were easier when you didn't pry. Rogers was an open book most of the time, so anything he decided to keep close had to be worth keeping_._

They spent the rest of the time in silence. Clint signed off on the jet, didn't meet Hill's eyes when he passed her, vaguely noted how Rogers' gaze lingered a little longer on her before he did coax out a slight smirk, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Good luck with that one, buddy..._

Natasha came a few minutes later, halfway through the pre-flight check that Clint was letting himself take his time on. He could see his quiver slung over one shoulder and could safely assume that the actual bow was folded in its case in the duffel bag she held. Their eyes met from where she was tossing the bag into the jet and she lifted an eyebrow - a silent question he had seen all too often recently. After a moment the archer nodded briefly. That seemed to be enough, because she turned away again, pulling herself into the jet with an ease that he always felt should surprise him and simply didn't.

The takeoff was simple and quiet. It took a few minutes for Clint to actually speak up, and it was only because a slightly concerning thought occurred.

"Hell, Stark isn't going to try for any kind of group dinners or something, is he?"


	2. Chapter 2

"It's pizza, Stark," Clint muttered. "I think I'll be forgiven if I miss it one night."

It was easy to tell that Tony wasn't about to give in. If there was one thing that was obvious about Tony Stark from that start, it was that he was damn stubborn when he set his mind to something. Unfortunately for everyone, he seemed pretty damn set on this whole team pizza thing.

No one actually knew how it had started or what the point was supposed to be - other than the so-called "bonding" that didn't actually seem to be happening - but Steve had been the one to point out that they were essentially living in the man's house free of charge, so it might be good to humor him with it.

Clint had managed to keep himself civil each time so far. That was mostly accomplished by avoiding everyone else as much as possible, and he didn't feel too bad since everyone except Tony seemed to be trying the same thing. Tonight, though, was one of his bad nights. They didn't happen nearly as often as they used to, but they usually meant that any social interaction wasn't a very good idea. Of course, Tony couldn't read him like Natasha could, and the man was stubborn to a fault.

"C'mon, Legolas, it's not like you do anything with us anyway. Just come down and get free food." His arms folded and he leaned against the door frame. "Boosts team morale if everyone's there."

"We're not a team," Clint muttered. "Barely even talk, really."

"Bruce and I talk plenty." He looked almost offended for a moment and then brown eyes rolled. "Just because you and your girlfriend prefer dark corners -"

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Yeah, sure, so you keep saying." Stark waved one hand impatiently and plowed on. "Just because you two are all super-secret-spy and the good captain is still...adjusting, that doesn't mean you're not allowed to be in the same room as a few other people for a change." The stubborn stares met, and after a moment the older man let out a short sigh. "If you don't come down for at least...ten minutes I'm raising your rent."

"Raise my - you don't charge us rent."

"Precisely."

Another bout of stubborn staring lasted longer than the first, but Clint finally let out an impatient breath and rolled his eyes.

"Ten minutes. If you try to keep me longer, I _will _shoot you, 'team' or not."

It shouldn't have surprised him that ten minutes somehow got extended into twenty. Really, it surprised him that he was surprised, in a way. As usual, the entire affair was rather subdued. Natasha had somehow gotten out of it, probably with threats. Thor had yet to come back - though he wouldn't actually mention it, Clint wasn't really holding his breath - so it was just the motley group of four that barely managed to hold conversations for more than five minutes at a time. Tony and Bruce, granted, could get on their little science rants, but after long enough that was the only real sound in the room.

Clint wasn't actually sure if Tony had trapped him on purpose. While it was entirely possible to walk past the man from where he was chattering away at Bruce about something, there was an extremely good chance that he would attempt to pull the younger man into the conversation - possibly literally. It didn't look intentional, but there was only one door in the room and being planted right in front of it probably wasn't an accident.

It wasn't like it was terrible at first. He'd been stuck in parties with marks for hours, but there was a purpose with that. This was just...frustrating. After the first fifteen minutes the edginess began to set in. There was a reason he always preferred the roof - being in any room with only one door for any extended period of time was never ideal, and tonight it seemed worse than usual. After twenty minutes, he was tempted to plant a knife in the wall just to send a message.

He hadn't had a bad night like this in a while. The unease might come up sometimes, but it usually subsided after an hour or so. Today it hadn't, and now he was stuck in a room, and there was a prickling in the back of his mind that he was trying to ignore with little success. Hell, he just wanted to get out and maybe get to the roof, maybe do some target practice, _something_ to get his head on straight again.

For now he just had to get out; he had to at least get somewhere with more than one exit. The archer managed to almost cross the entire room before Tony noticed, and for once the silent order to keep his mouth shut seemed to work. It was a surprise, but a satisfying one. Of course he hadn't accounted for Bruce...

"You alright, Clint?"

_Dammit..._ Bruce, ironically, seemed to have been the first one to get legitimately comfortable with everyone else. Tony acted like it, but he still kept his masks up. Steve was polite, but he didn't try to be open. Bruce actually appeared to genuinely like everyone in the room; he had been the first one to use first names on a regular basis. Made it difficult to dislike the man, even if you were aware of the Hulk constantly lurking under that smile.

"I'm fine." _Just be polite, get out. _His hands itched for his bow, a knife, something to throw or shoot or something...

"You look pale."

Hell, how could he tell that? Clint glanced down at his hands as if he'd be able to spot it before he shook his head. "Just...a little tired; I'm fine."

He didn't even notice the doctor approaching until they were face to face and he cursed the inattention. Bruce, of course, looked legitimately concerned, peering up at him critically. Finally he spoke again, voice raised a little.

"Think he's telling me the truth, Steve?"

A quick glance back at Steve showed that he certainly hadn't been expecting the question; he blinked quickly before shrugging one shoulder.

"I wouldn't guess so. Not around us."

Clint shot him a sharp glare. "What's that supposed to mean, Rogers?"

Another shrug. "You don't trust us. It's easy enough to see, and fairly understandable."

"Understandable, but not always smart," Bruce cut in before Clint could retort. "You're here and there's something up. You sick?"

Was he? Clint had to hesitate to consider it. He had definitely been sick right after Manhattan. Natasha had guessed that his body had been physically trying to fight of Loki's influence, and when it was suddenly gone, he had crashed. It made sense, but it hadn't been pleasant. This wasn't the same. This was...an itch, almost, in his head like where a scab hadn't fully healed over. Not an open wound, but enough to notice.

"I'm sick of being in this room," he said finally, fighting to keep his fingers still. "It's too closed in. Can I go now?"

Bruce didn't look convinced. "You don't lie as well like this. If you're sick I can help."

"C'mon, Legolas." Of course Tony cut in. Clint squeezed his eyes closed a few moments trying to get what little remained of his patience back. "You're spy face is broken; just spit it out."

"Are you sure you want to be antagonizing a man who can break your neck before you can blink, Stark?" The words were out before he registered them and Clint clamped his mouth shut again. He kept the glare, though, and was rather pleased when the other three looked taken aback.

"I think it's against the rules to murder your roommates," Tony said after a moment. His tone was still light, but there was a little less confidence behind it this time. "After all, we're -"

"I've already murdered my teammates, my students, and a couple supervisors." Clint took a step closer to the billionaire, and the grin he pulled on was somewhat challenging. "I barely know you."

To his credit, Tony didn't reply. It was silent long enough that Clint was beginning to think he'd made his point and they'd let him go, and he was just turning toward the door when, of course, Steve spoke up again.

"That wasn't you, Barton. That was Loki, and everyone knows that."

"Oh yeah?" He whirled on the older man, nails digging into his palms. Damn he wanted his bow... "Because I seem to remember _my_ arrows and _my_explosives and _my_ hand shooting. You people think so too, even if you won't admit it." Blue eyes glanced over to each of them quickly and he snorted. "You don't think I see you, but I'm trained for that, aren't I? I can see your looks, and you're still worried I'm gonna snap."

He was definitely getting some looks now. All three of them were staring - Tony just looked a little confused while Steve and Bruce both looked actively concerned. _Hell..._ Clint swore under his breath, turning and running a hand through his hair impatiently.

"Maybe I will, who the hell knows? Maybe I'll just snap and take out the entire damn building - end up regretting all those times I was too exhausted to pull the trigger. Make Fury regret not taking me out when he had the chance."

The silence after that statement was strained. He could see Tony visibly stiffen and Bruce's gaze darken a little. Great. This had turned out to be a cheerful night. With another curse Clint turned back toward the door, trying to ignore the stares at his back.

"Next time I decline a dinner offer," he shot over his shoulder, "keep in mind that it might be in everyone else's best interest."

* * *

"You got me covered, Nat?"

"Yeah, I've got it. You have an opening - move."

The lighting was bad. Probably set up that way, meant to throw people off, make shots go awry...but hell it was annoying. Clint kept his finger hovering over the trigger, mentally swearing at whoever had decided he couldn't use a bow for this. Not that he was bad with a gun. It just wasn't preferable.

He could feel Natasha moving behind him, her gun raised as well as she scanned the area they had just left. They'd used this strategy countless times, and it had only gone terribly wrong twice that he could remember.

"Movement at your three." The words were barely audible and Clint reacted immediately, dropping and rolling behind the closest low wall. He propped himself up enough to aim over it and took a shot, smirking a little as a loud curse confirmed the hit.

"One to go."

"Last one might be harder," she reminded him. "More training - he actually knows how to use a gun."

"Noted." Clint stood, gesturing with his gun vaguely. "Ladies first."

The guy was _definitely _better than his partner, that was for sure. They kept hearing him moving, but getting a visual was a lot harder than it should have been. Military training was effective, apparently. But even so, one man against two trained SHIELD assassins didn't stand very much of a chance.

It took some maneuvering to get him cornered. Silent gestures, expressions, and just general knowledge of how the other operated, and they managed to step around the walls at the exact same time, guns trained carefully at the man's chest. Clint could see the moment he realized he was caught. Hands went up in surrender and he let out a resigned sigh.

"Alright, well played. You gonna -"

Steve cut off suddenly when Natasha fired. His eyes cut down to his chest and then dulled a little before his arms dropped.

"You realize I surrendered, right?"

Clint smirked, propping his gun on his shoulder as the lights came back on. Steve didn't look nearly as amused.

"You were the mark," Natasha said simply. "We took out the mark."

"I had surrendered," Steve pointed out grimly. "What, take no hostages?"

"Not unless the orders are to take hostages, no."

"They're scary, I keep telling you," Tony called. They glanced around as he strode toward them. "Legolas there got me practically without looking."

"Well you _were _right out in the open, Stark," Clint reminded him. "And these damn vests give a pretty clear target." He tapped absently at his chest where the glowing lights converged onto the center. "They've got ten-year-olds in here who are better shots than you."

"Well usually I've got a state-of-the-art aiming mechanism, so I don't worry about that too much..."

"Which is exactly the problem," Steve cut in. "It was three against two and they still wiped us out in a few minutes because you ignored the plan and went charging out into the line of fire."

Clint found himself rolling his eyes, leaning against the nearest wall. Steve had been the one to propose the whole 'training exercise'. Apparently using actual guns was frowned upon in the middle of New York, so they had improvised and Tony had managed to rent out the nearest laser tag arena for the day. The more rounds they went, the more dismayed Steve seemed to get. It was hard to tell whether it was because he was just a lot worse at laser tag than he'd expected or because the 'training' didn't seem to be accomplishing anything.

"Really, it was two against two," Natasha pointed out. "Banner gave himself up at the door."

"I'm not exactly sure what you were expecting, Cap." Clint, spun the gun idly, examining the opposite wall. "You were military, Stark wasn't. Not like he's well known for following orders."

"They weren't orders, they..." Steve let out a breath, shaking his head. "They were tactics - we've seen you work before, and we should've been able to at least last longer than that."

"You've seen two of our moves." Natasha turned toward the exit, unstrapping her vest as she went. "Maybe. That doesn't mean you could take us."

The three men exchanged glances before following. Tony started swearing under his breath about cheap tech, lousy rules, and wastes of time. Steve looked both tired and frustrated and sighed heavily, falling in step beside Clint.

"Well that was...ineffective," he muttered. "Don't suppose it'd pay to ask how you two manage it?"

The archer shrugged. "We've been working together for years. It's second-nature. Do things well or you get one of you killed."

"Knew guys in the army who'd get set with a new team and be completing missions the next day. After...everything, I assumed it'd at least be better than..." One hand gestured at the room in general, "…well, all that."

"We had a lucky break in Manhattan." Clint met the rather startled glance with a raised brow. "It's true, and you know it. Fury knew it when he threw us all together; he knew it was a shot in the dark. Living in the same building for a little while doesn't mean we're gonna be some elite fighting force."

"There was something during that battle." He sounded so damn convinced, it was almost hard to argue. "Wasn't brilliant or flawless, but it got the job done, and that's more than a lot of people can say." The younger man hesitated a little, looking over at Natasha for a moment before he sighed.

"What Nat and I do isn't flawless, but it's worked so far. After nearly getting killed a few thousand times there isn't much of an option but to trust each other. This group...we're not exactly at that point."

"Even so, it's not impossible -"

"You're assuming the rest actually know how to work with others." Clint shook his head, glancing toward Tony who was struggling with the velcro on his gear. "Stark's been working alone for years. Banner still isn't used to people in general, and Natasha and I have been paired up for so long..." He shrugged. "We're not a team, Rogers."

The other man let out a slow breath, nodding quickly at Bruce who seemed to be attempting a slightly apologetic look when he caught up.

"We're not," he said after a moment, "but we could be."

Clint watched as he strode away and shot a look at the others briefly before snorting lightly, pulling at the vest and tossing the gun onto its hook.

"Yeah. Good luck with that, buddy."

* * *

Living in the same building made it very easy to learn the weirdest quirks about everyone else. Overall, they were all fairly private people - though Thor was apparently more used to having others around than the rest, and Tony was private with everyone except the press - but it was hard to stay completely private when you ran into someone in the kitchen at two in the morning or ended up in the same gym before the sun rose.

They learned that Steve didn't sleep much. He claimed that he'd slept for 70 years and his body had decided to store it up, so it wasn't really that necessary. This tended to lead to unexpected run-ins in the middle of the night when someone would get up for a drink - or in Clint's case, just the occasional inability to sleep through an entire night - and find the ex-soldier reading by a window or messing with the tablet Tony had given him.

They learned that Tony talked to his various robots almost constantly, despite the fact that only one of them talked back. He would threaten them with soaked circuits, general dismantlement, and a few things that Clint wasn't entirely sure were legal. Despite all that, though, it was an unmentioned fact that the engineer had kept the first bot since he'd built the thing at 17, and the other two were based on the same design.

They learned that Bruce was a surprisingly adept singer. Tony was the first to discover this, as it seemed to be most prevalent in the lab, but it eventually leaked into other tasks like washing dishes - which he insisted on doing, despite Tony's insistence that the machines worked just fine - and the various hours spent just sitting in one spot. He claimed it was calming, so no one complained.

Natasha was good at only showing what she wanted others to see. Clint had already been around her long enough to pick up some habits, but she was still fairly closed off to everyone else. The only thing that had been made very obvious was her dislike for card games. The woman was excellent at them - she could read the most minute facial expressions and could completely shut off any of hers. Steve, ironically, had the best poker face of the lot, but even he hadn't been able to fool her. But she hated them. Vehemently, apparently. Of course, her being Natasha, no one chose to question it too extensively.

The most surprising one, however, was Thor. He hadn't shown up for quite a while after Manhattan, but there had been the whole episode in Greenwich and then he'd come to New York a few days later announcing that he'd be staying on Earth for the foreseeable future. Tony, of course, had had a floor set up since they had fixed the Tower, and the former prince - was he still a prince? Hell if they knew how Asgardian court handled things - had moved in immediately. He seemed to settle in easily and was more than happy to be pulled into all of the standing routines.

No one had anticipated the bi-weekly horror movie showing to be his favorite one.

"The fools! Can't they see the danger lies in the basement? Why would they venture down without reinforcements?"

"Because," Tony tried to explain from where he sat at Pepper's feet, "they're stupid white people in a horror movie. They're not allowed to think things through."

Thor appeared to accept that for a while, staring intently at the screen, seemingly unaware of Clint and Bruce trying to stifle their laughter beside him. It didn't take long for him to become agitated again and only a few moments longer to express it.

"If they have possession of a flashlight, why would they use matches as a light source?"

Tony threw back his head into Pepper's lap with a groan and a carrying whisper of "Help me..." The woman didn't seem sympathetic in the slightest and simply patted his head twice before returning her attention to the movie.

Maybe it was just that everyone had seen their fair share of horrors to be affected by simple movies, but they had all come to a consensus that they were ridiculous and therefore it was necessary to see as many of them as possible. Usually there was a general state of apathy during the whole thing, and it was more of a chance to let mental functioning shut off for two hours than anything else. But then Thor had come, and they had become more of a chance to watch him get steadily more agitated at the characters for their stupidity. It was a little odd sometimes, since he hadn't been around to see the tension in the beginning. Probably easier for him, though, and no one bothered to mention it.

"Is it a customary battle technique to scream and fall over? Are they trying to fool the beasts?"

"I can't tell if he's learned sarcasm or not," Clint muttered to Natasha under his breath. She snorted lightly, pulling her legs up onto the couch and shrugging.

"Seems serious. But he always seems serious, so who knows?" The man grunted, reaching across her to snag a handful of the chips from the bowl perched on the arm of the couch. It was a little spooky to him that Tony had managed to figure out everyone's preference in food, but as long as he kept the fridges stocked, there wasn't much reason to complain.

Thor apparently liked this particular film a lot. He was much more vocal about it than previous ones. Clint wasn't even sure what the plot was - it seemed to have something to do with a haunted basement and a lot of clapping - but the comments were more entertaining than the movie itself.

"Why not simply leave and burn the dwelling to the ground? Surely that would rid it of the demons, if there is nowhere for them to live?"

"He's got a point," Steve cut in, glancing over his shoulder at Tony with a grin. "Why don't they just move out?"

"It doesn't -" Tony sighed melodramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose as if the whole thing were causing him great distress "It doesn't just_work _like that; they can't make these things simple, or we wouldn't have a movie."

"But they claim to be based on true events!" Thor reminded them loudly. "Surely real investigators would have better ideas than to wander into the dark after the beasts alone."

"You'd think, right?"

It was strange, really, how comfortable they had gotten on nights like this. Natasha was leaning up against Clint's side, half of her attention on a file in her hand and half on the conversations. Steve and Bruce kept exchanging slightly weary glances and rolled eyes behind Thor's back. Tony kept up a steady stream of sarcastic comments, but he actually seemed relaxed, like he wasn't trying so hard to keep up appearances. Pepper had the air of having adopted a pack of stray puppies that were simultaneously irritating and entertaining as long as they didn't make too big of a mess.

"Who picked this one, anyway?" Clint called, glancing around quickly. "Really, this is the loudest he's ever been, I'm impressed."

"That would be me." Tony waved one hand idly. "The recognition is noted and appreciated."

"Ah, well if it's Tony...might have to redact it; you get enough recognition as it is."

"I resent that, I don't -" The older man blinked and then looked over with a raised eyebrow. "You never call me Tony."

It went relatively quiet. Natasha glanced up a little curiously and Steve was smirking a little, his eyes still on the TV. Clint could feel it getting on the verge of awkward until Thor interrupted loudly.

"Oh, now they are _trying _to anger the spirits - now they are actually trying to anger them! Who is the one planning these strategies?"

Bruce gave a sudden and surprising burst of laughter. There was a short moment before Steve cracked as well and doubled over, arms on his knees as he tried to stifle it again. Natasha gave a rather weary shake of her head, though her smile was a genuine one as she turned back to the file.

Clint glanced back over at Tony quickly and answered the incredulous look with a slightly resigned shrug. It seemed enough, at least, and everyone had their attention diverted again, which was preferable.

_Getting too comfortable with these guys, Barton. That's gonna be dangerous. _Hell, though, they hadn't actually tried to kill him yet...and the Tower was a consistent place to sleep with consistent food. As far as he knew, Fury was still determined to keep this little "team" handy. Hell knew what he was planning for, but Manhattan had been a wake-up call. Still, they were hardly a team. Living together didn't just automatically make people whatever immovable force SHIELD wanted. They had come out on top with the Chitauri by a lot of dumb luck, and Clint wasn't sure they could repeat it if something else came up.

Still, it wasn't necessary to just cut and run. He knew Natasha was sticking around if he was, and she hadn't actually murdered any of the others yet. That had to be some kind of act of faith.

No point in leaving yet, he determined. No immediate threat...and hell, they might not be a team, but they were entertaining, at the very least.

He could stick it out a little while longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:**

**Like I said - I cut it up kinda strange, sorry for that. Seemed like a good idea at 2 in the morning. Let me know what you think, and I hope you were at least mildly entertained!**

* * *

"I hate ties…"

"So you've mentioned. Stop squirming."

"Hate the press, too."

"I'm well aware. Do you want this thing to _actually _choke you?"

Clint let out a breath, eyes scanning the area warily while trying to avoid any actual eye contact. Natasha was attempting to fix his tie for what was probably the fifth time since they'd left the Tower. He still wasn't sure how Tony had gotten his measurements – and wasn't really sure he wanted to know – but the light grey suit had appeared in his room the night before and, despite protests, Natasha had insisted he actually wear it. She stepped back after a moment, examining her work before nodding curtly.

"Now if you'll stop tugging at it –" a deft hand swatted his away from where it had gone to do just that – "you might actually pass for respectable." He managed a chuckle, glancing her over quickly. The dress she'd procured from who-knew-where was a lot more modest than what he'd seen her wear on jobs, but even then, it was Natasha. He'd heard Tony mutter once that sweatpants could border on immodest with her, and he didn't exactly disagree.

"Hard to manage if I'm being compared to you all the time. I'd almost forgotten how nicely you clean up."

The woman rolled her eyes, though she did seem to be smiling. Almost, at least, and he'd take almost. "Speak for yourself, Robin Hood. It's a novelty just seeing you with sleeves."

Clint had some kind of retort in mind – he was sure he did – but it was cut short when Tony's voice somehow carried over the rest of the low babble. "Hey, lovebirds!"

The archer had to pause a moment, praying to whoever would listen that there weren't any cameras near enough to pick that up. They were still technically backstage, so it was unlikely, but knowing his luck… He turned, not too surprised at how easy it was to find Tony amidst the crowd, and raised an eyebrow at the gesturing. "Quit preening, you look fine. We're on. And where the hell is Rogers – if he's late again, I swear…"

_Dammit…_ This entire thing had seemed like a terrible idea from the start, and now every single doubt was rushing back from wherever he'd managed to store them on the ride over. Press conferences were not his thing. Tony did the press. Steve could handle them alright, which probably came from all those shows he'd done during the war. Thor was loud and ornate, so the reporters loved him no matter what he said. Bruce had learned how to keep a low profile even with cameras pointed at him, and no one was ever too abrasive around a guy who had the potential to grow some four feet in a matter of seconds. Natasha could handle whatever was thrown at her, be it press conferences or collapsing buildings. At this point, Clint felt he'd take the collapsing building.

That wouldn't make them go away, though. Fury had tried pulling the information back, redacting what they could, making deals with whoever would listen, but it hadn't worked. They had kept the really damaging stuff from getting out; any reports of Clint in Stuttgart were gone, and the rumors of his involvement with Loki had been squashed. That didn't keep the basic facts from spreading across the world in a matter of days. That archer who had fought alongside the super-powered against the alien invaders was just an ex-carnie who'd been sort of popular back in the day. No powers, no enhanced strength, no armored suit – just a bow and some trick arrows and a pretty damn good aim.

They knew. SHIELD had done all it could, but they knew, and they weren't going away, and he'd been given instructions to "handle it as it comes and leave our name out of it." No one had mentioned, however, that 'handling it' would involve a press conference.

It took Natasha nudging his arm to pull Clint back to the present and a small encouraging nod to get his legs to cooperate. The noise of the crowd seemed weirdly muffled when he was steered into the light and he barely noticed that Bruce was already sitting, surprisingly at ease with the situation, and that Thor was chatting animatedly with a reporter who'd gotten lucky enough to stand by the stage.

There was a slight change in the murmurs when people noticed him and a few cameras shifted to blink in his direction. Clint made himself look up and meet a few eyes, because hell if he was going to be intimidated by news casters or whoever the hell these were. It wasn't that he was bad with crowds – he'd grown up performing in front of crowds, he did demonstrations for the trainees back at base – but these people were expecting an entirely different performance. They wanted him to talk, to look presentable, to convince them that he belonged on a team with some of the most powerful people in the world. He vaguely noticed he was pulling at his tie again when a small hand closed around his wrist and pulled it back down.

"Let's hope Stark keeps his shirt on for this one, huh?" Natasha murmured, keeping a carefully polite smile in place as she waved vaguely at the crowd. The man found himself grinning and felt some of the tension melt away, letting her lead him to the chairs that were so carefully lined up. Bruce glanced up quickly, nodding as they sat down before he returned his attention to the far wall.

"They're not gonna make me talk, are they?" Clint asked after a moment, voice low and his arms folding to keep himself from fidgeting too much. His partner shrugged one shoulder.

"First time they've seen us all together since Manhattan. I'll be surprised if they don't ask a question or two. It's not like you _have _to answer, but…" She shot him a look that might have been sympathetic or challenging or some odd mixture of the two. "They'll like you more if you do."

"Hell if I care if they like me…"

"Yes you do." The words were so matter-of-fact that he glanced down at her in surprise. She was scanning the crowd critically, but there were the hints of a real smile on her face this time. "You always do. And they will." Anything further was cut off when Tony strode on, followed by Steve who looked slightly harried as if he had indeed been running late. When he turned toward the lights, though, somehow all traces of that vanished and it was as if he had meant to look exactly as he did.

It was easy to tell who the crowd knew best; ever since it had been revealed that Steve was indeed the same Captain America from the war, he'd been getting as much publicity as Tony, and it was no different here. With the combination of both men at once, the noise level swelled considerably for a few moments before the billionaire waved it back down to a low mutter as Steve took his seat and Thor excused himself to re-join the others.

"Alright, alright, calm down. I know we're all stunning, but..." There was scattered laughter and the people fell quiet, settling behind their various cameras and notepads and microphones as each and every one zeroed in on Tony. "We all appreciate the turn out - or most of us do, anyway." He shot a pointed look toward Bruce and Clint. The crowd laughed again. _How the hell does he do that? _Maybe it just came with practice, but Tony looked just as much at ease in the spotlight as he did telling a story at dinner. "I know there's been a lot of rumors flying around since Manhattan. Who we are, who we work for, what hair products Mr. God-of-Thunder uses...so we're gonna clear some things up."

They ended up moving down the line, which made Clint extremely glad he was next-to-last. Tony seemed to be acting as a moderator of sorts. He picked the reporters to ask their questions, kept things moving at a decent pace, and made sure the audience laughed on occasion. From the limited amount that he was processing, Clint noted that everyone seemed to be sticking with a very short introduction and then just left the people to their questions. He knew the official story to stick with, but he had no idea how the hell he was supposed to introduce himself.

_Clint Barton - ex-carnie, no idea how I got here..._

_I know a bow is outdated, but it works, really..._

_Clint Barton, used to be a contract assassin, working for the guys who kept me out of prison..._

Hell, he was bad at this. He wasn't even sure who he was _supposed _to be at this point, let alone who he actually was. Blue eyes glanced over the rest of the team briefly as he considered it. At Tony, who'd opened up his place to house them all and had yet to really complain about it, who somehow knew Clint didn't own a suit, and had gone to the trouble of getting him one. Steve, who didn't sleep much, was always willing to go a few rounds in the middle of the night, and who wasn't nearly as good at laser tag as most would think. Thor, who had been raised a prince and, apart from his word choice, never really acted like it, and who would get into loud one-sided arguments with the characters in horror movies. Bruce, who never resented the people who still feared him, and who could put away as much pizza as Steve. Natasha, who had been his partner for years, who had stuck with him at his lowest points, and who had been the only family he had since Coulson's death.

Maybe that had changed, though. Clint blinked a few times at the realization, barely noticing that he had stood once Bruce sat down. It hadn't been a long time, relatively, that he'd lived with this group, but he trusted them more than a lot of the agents he'd worked with for years. If Fury had his way, they were sort of stuck with each other for a while. It was a weird thing to realize that, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Seems all that building-jumping's gotten his head stuck in the clouds." Tony's voice cut into his thoughts and the archer blinked again, glancing over curiously. "You with us, buddy?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm...sorry about that." _Focus, Barton._ Clint pulled in a breath and squared his shoulders a little as he faced the crowd. _Introductions. Who are you? _Hell, it felt weird actually knowing. "My name's Clint Barton and, despite their better judgment..." He found himself grinning as he glanced over the team again, found himself actually liking the word 'team'. "I'm an Avenger."


End file.
